


The Shit You Do That Drives Me Bananas

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-21
Updated: 2008-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:43:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a good indicator of exactly how mad John was that it was a whole fifteen minutes after Rodney got back before he broke into his quarters. "Hi," he said, halting just inside the door, glancing at Rodney's wall of certificates like they were his reason for visiting – all new and completely absorbing, instead of so familiar he could recite them by rote.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shit You Do That Drives Me Bananas

It was a good indicator of exactly how mad John was that it was a whole fifteen minutes after Rodney got back before he broke into his quarters. "Hi," he said, halting just inside the door, glancing at Rodney's wall of certificates like they were his reason for visiting – all new and completely absorbing, instead of so familiar he could recite them by rote.

Rodney kept on toweling his hair. His feet were bare, his face pink, and his BDUs looked fresh. "Hi."

"So." John looked at him for a second, then at the desk.

Rodney mashed up his towel and threw it toward the bathroom door. "So."

John scratched the back of his neck for want of something more purposeful to do. "Hear you almost blew up Arizona."

"Nevada."

"Desert, dusty, whatever." He shrugged for effect.

Rodney sighed. "It wasn't _me_. In fact I'm the one who saved everyone."

John nodded. "Heard that was Bill Nye."

Rodney narrowed his eyes. "Touché."

John kept his face blank – his gut had been in knots for five goddamn weeks and he was entitled to be a little mean. "Heard you almost killed Keller, too."

Rodney swore softly under his breath. "Look – "

"And then, word is, you two were going _out_ together . . ."

"So that's what this is about, hmm?" Rodney closed the distance between them by a couple of steps. John reminded himself he had no reason to back up. "You had the chance to come with me, but no, you said no, and now . . ."

The level to which Rodney could be completely obtuse, despite his fabled genius, amazed John every goddamn day. "Right, 'cause Don't Ask, Don't Tell's such a formality on Earth, I should _absolutely_ have shown up with you at some . . ."

Rodney spluttered, interrupting him. "Did you think they'd make you wear a sign? Fucking This Guy, Court Martial Me Please?"

John blew out a breath, venting frustration. "A sign really wouldn't have been _necessary_ , considering we'd have shown up _together_. And besides, _you're_ the one who wanted to show up with a hot date who'd . . ."

"Yes!" Rodney spluttered. "You! I've made my feelings on your dress blues pretty damn clear, what the hell are you – "

"Don't give me that." John stalked past him, kicking aimlessly at Rodney's desk chair just to watch it roll. "You wanted to look cool in front of all your _nerd_ buddies, and last I checked, they all speak Hot Girl."

"This," Rodney said, jabbing a finger in John's direction, "is not about me. You're the one who's concerned about, oh, what was it? Career suicide? Like this entire visit wasn't one giant testimony to the fact that this _is_ career suicide for me, this entire enterprise, because no one back there _ever_ gets to know what I do or why it matters, and you're worried about someone finding out you're _gay_?"

"Yeah, go figure," John said bitterly. "Because I get shipped home, kicked out, what the hell else do you think I'm gonna do? Who's going to have your ass the next time a fucking Wraith comes looking to . . ."

"I asked you! You said no! End of story!"

John clenched his jaw, trying to keep the rest of his words locked up tight. "And then you nearly get yourself fucking killed," he snapped, voice louder than he'd intended.

Rodney deflated, shoulders rounding as he rubbed a hand over his face. "I had no idea that was going to – "

John bit his upper lip, a tiny pressure point of discomfort to keep him focused. "And whatever you think it's . . . This isn't about Jennifer."

Rodney eyed him dubiously.

"She took one for the team, going with you."

"She got to go see her dad," Rodney pointed out. "Hardly altruism."

"Yeah, but she – " John gestured. "Physics conference _thing_. All so you'd look good in front of . . . "

"The nerd buddies."

John nodded. "Right."

Rodney sighed. "So if it's not about – and frankly, if it's not about that, then you are one enormous lying liar who lies because I distinctly remember you yelling things about how I was an asshole and . . ."

"It's about," John said, through gritted teeth, "the fact that on Earth, I can't . . ." He felt his throat close and he jerked his head down, studied the floor. "We can't act like we do here," he said, confessing to the tile. "And I can't – " He waved a hand. "You know."

"What? You can't what?"

" _Rod_ ney."

"No, really, I have no clue what it is you can't do. Make out with me in front of a four star general? That is not a news flash!"

John shifted his feet. One of his laces was frayed. "Can't _be_ there when the shit hits the fan and _you_ end up . . ."

One set of bare toes, then another, pushed into view. "So what, I'm grounded?" Rodney asked.

John glanced up, then away, rolling his eyes. "Fuck you."

"I can't not go back to Earth forever."

"That's not what I said."

"And it's not your job to . . ."

John snapped his attention back to Rodney's face. "It's _always_ my job," he said, certainty cold in his gut.

Rodney sighed, shaking his head a little. "I saved the day. And the girl. And came back in one piece."

"And you almost – "

"Yeah, and you got hit on the head by Ronon's surfboard, the gossip mill works both ways, you big jerk."

John looked into the safe middle distance just above Rodney's shoulder. "It was nothing. I mean, really small concussion, and . . ."

"Jesus," Rodney swore, and leaned in, hooking a hand around the back of John's neck and pulling him in for a swift, firm kiss. "Quit it."

"What?" John asked, looking between Rodney's forehead and his mouth.

"How about everything. For like, I don't know, the next twelve years," Rodney said, and leaned in again, tilting his head and sliding his lips over John's so gently that John couldn't help but press back, ask for a little more, pull Rodney in with a hand at his hip and a hesitant huff of breath against his mouth.

"Tease," John mumbled.

"Making you work for it," Rodney said, the corner of his mouth hitching into a half smile.

"Five. Weeks," John pointed out, and if he sounded petulant even to his own ears, he was almost at the point where he didn't care.

"Yeah," Rodney breathed, lips nudging John's once, twice, fingers pushing up through the back of John's hair.

John whined softly. "Seriously, I . . ."

And Rodney laughed, pulled him closer, kissed him open-mouthed, all heat and affection and a clever tongue, hands pulling John's shirt out of his pants. "I have things I want to do to you," Rodney said, whispering into the shell of John's ear, "that I have been thinking about for five long weeks."

"Make-up sex?" John said hopefully, shivering as Rodney scraped his teeth over the pulse point in his throat.

"Make-up sex," Rodney agreed, easing a thigh between John's own, rocking a little, a flush showing at the neck of his t-shirt in response.

"I could do that," John nodded, sucking just beneath Rodney's jaw, smiling when Rodney's fingers flexed and tightened in his hair. "I could . . ."

"If, you know, that concussion's healed," Rodney said, laughing just a little as John swore at him, goading him – no jury would convict – into sweeping out a leg and knocking him backwards, tumbling him onto the bed. Rodney grinned up at him, t-shirt askew, the pale jut of his hip just begging to be bitten. "Maybe I should see how your . . . _god_ , motor function's . . ."

John kissed him quiet, reaching up to tangle their hands together beside Rodney's head. "How about we just . . ."

Rodney watched him for a second, looking as if he were writing some sort of epic treatise about the moment inside his head. But all he said was, "How about," and leaned up to kiss him again.


End file.
